


After the Task

by Ziggy_Scardust



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate POV, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canon Compliant, Gen, Godfather Sirius Black, Harry Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post Triwizard, Seriously this must have been so hard for Sirius to take, Sirius Black is a good godfather, Sirius has to listen to Harry's tale, the parting of the ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziggy_Scardust/pseuds/Ziggy_Scardust
Summary: “Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid’s house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.”
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Minerva McGonagall
Comments: 24
Kudos: 313





	After the Task

Sirius followed McGonagall back to Dumbledore’s office as Padfoot, his heart pounding, his nostrils full of the sharp scent of fear coming off her. Never had he seen Minerva McGonagall as tense and tight-lipped as he had now, and that, more even than the screams emanating from the maze, scared him.

_ Not Harry _ , he thought to himself. He can’t be…she’d have said something if…

He forced himself to continue silently, resisting the urge to transform and beg her for information, focusing as best he could through Padfoot’s brain on reaching Dumbledore’s office. The moment she opened the door, however, he could no longer help himself. Springing back into human form, he advanced on her as she was shutting the door.

“Where’s Harry? Is he alright? What’s going on?”

He knew he was too close to her, knew he sounded hoarse and terrified, but she did not flinch, even though he knew he must look half-mad with his frantic expression and overgrown hair.

“Is Harry all right?” he repeated, urgently.

“He - he will be,” she answered shakily, and a wave of relief swept over Sirius, so strongly he could hardly stand, and instead collapsed into the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then looked back up at her.

“What do you mean, ‘he will be’?”

“He’s - he’s been through a lot, tonight,” she said, carefully, and Sirius started to feel frustrated.

“I don’t know exactly what happened,” she added, seeing his expression shift. “Albus is bringing him here, after he finishes interrogating the Death Eater responsible.”

“Responsible for what?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. Harry and the other boy - Diggory - were kidnapped from the maze; the Triwizard Cup was a Portkey. They just came back, and Diggory’s been killed.” Her voice faltered for a moment, but she swallowed, and continued. “It seems a Death Eater has been planted here, pulling the strings. Albus wants Harry to hear the confession from him, understand why he went through it.”

Sirius nodded; that sounded like the sort of thing Dumbledore would do.

“Mr. Black,” began McGonagall again.

“Sirius, Professor,” he corrected, looking down at his knees.

“Sirius,” she began in a gentler tone than he had expected. “Just - just so you’re aware - he’s been hurt.”

“Hurt? How?” he asked, his shoulders tensing.

“He’s not in any danger, but he has a cut arm, his leg seems to be injured, and - and -“

“And?” he demanded, more loudly than he’d meant.

“I - I can’t be sure, but he looks as if he’s been tortured,” she answered, her voice tightening.

“He what?” Sirius heard himself say, but he did not wait to listen for her answer; he found himself on his feet again. “Are you sure? What did he say?”

“I can’t be sure - it’s been a long time since I saw traces of the Cruciatus curse - but he looks it,” she answered, her voice trembling again.

He did not want to believe her; he started pacing the room, agitated, trying not to picture Harry being tortured by a Death Eater. He’s  _ fourteen _ , the voice in his head said, only fourteen…and he had to go through that…

“I’m so sorry,” he heard her say quietly from across the room, but he did not look at her; suddenly exhausted again, he fell back into the chair.

“He and Albus will be here soon,” she said, in a stronger voice now, but her eyes looked suspiciously bright. “I didn’t want you to be caught off guard.”

He nodded dumbly. He supposed it was better that he knew now, but could hardly bring himself to think about it.

McGonagall coughed, swallowed, and began again, in an approximation of the brisk tone he associated with her.

“Mr. Black - Sirius - I have to go now, we will need witnesses to the confession. Stay here, the office is sealed. Can I send anything up to you? You look half-starved.”

He shook his head, still not trusting his voice. It was true that he hadn’t eaten for some time, but he doubted anything he ate would stay put.

“Very well. Albus and Harry will be along shortly.” She looked at him, not unkindly, and seemed to be searching for words.

“Thanks, Professor,” he said, mostly to break the silence; he doubted very much she would find anything to say that would be helpful. She nodded, swallowed again, and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a snap.

After she had left, Sirius found himself feeling strangely alone; he had no idea how long he would be waiting. He was torn between the fear of what could have happened to Harry, and the dread of knowing it. Agitated, he sprang back out of the chair and started pacing again, frustrated with his own lack of control.

He should have known this was coming. He should have been braced for it. He knew perfectly well whoever put Harry’s name in the Goblet meant him harm, but as the Tournament progressed and Harry had been fine, he’d allowed himself to hope it would be all right. Stupid, he thought, letting wishful thinking get the better of him. Of _course_ Harry had a target on his back, of course he was going to get hurt, and all he’d managed to do was tell him to learn some jinxes.

But he’s not the one who died, said another voice in his head, at least that wasn’t him.

Then he shook himself. It wasn’t right to be glad that it was the other kid who was killed, he told himself firmly, and Harry - Harry must have seen it happen, and he must be in shock over it.

At this thought, he threw himself back into the chair, leaned back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. What the hell was he supposed to do now that he’d utterly failed in trying to keep him safe? Tell him it would be all right? Harry wasn’t that stupid, even if he, Sirius, had been idiot enough to think Harry might get away from this Tournament unhurt. He felt a burning of rage and fear and frustration in the corner of his eyes.

Then he stood, abruptly, and wiped his face quickly on his sleeve. No. He might not be able to do anything concrete in this hellishness, but he would not lose control, he would not break down, not when Harry had been through hell. He had no right to be the weak one, not now. He swallowed several times, pulling himself together, bracing himself the way he should have before the third task.

He jumped when he heard footsteps outside the door, and his heart leapt into his mouth - he needed to see, for himself, that Harry was alive, that he would be all right.

The door swung open, and Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking unusually grave, but Sirius’ eyes met Harry’s. He was leaning heavily on Dumbledore’s arm, pale, trembling, and with blood staining his left sleeve. Even in his human form, the scent of fear stung Sirius’ nostrils, sharp, acid, metallic. He stepped across the room, and Harry let go of Dumbledore, but swayed on the spot as he did so, and Sirius noticed his right leg was injured. Sirius caught his arm, pulled it over his shoulder, and slung an arm around Harry’s waist, supporting him towards the chair in front of the desk.

“What happened?” he asked, looking from Harry’s frozen face, to Dumbledore’s blue eyes, and back again. “I knew it - I knew something like this - “

He helped Harry into the chair just as Dumbledore conjured another next to it; he sat, pulling his chair closer to the desk. “What happened?” he asked again, more urgently, noticing that Harry’s shirt was drenched in a cold sweat, and that there were scorch marks on his clothes around the wound on his leg. McGonagall had not been lying; he did look as if he had been tortured. He looked up at Dumbledore, silently begging for information, and to his relief, he started to explain.

“Minerva will have told you that we were interrogating the Death Eater who was planted at Hogwarts. It seems,” he sighed heavily, “that you are not, in fact, the first inmate to successfully escape Azkaban, though you are certainly the first to do so unaided, and your escape was undoubtedly the most impressive.” He nodded politely at Sirius, but Sirius was in no mood to accept compliments. He glared impatiently at Dumbledore, who continued.

“Barty Crouch Jr. managed to escape from Azkaban nearly thirteen years ago,” he began.

“What? But he died - I watched the Dementors  _ bury _ him - “ Sirius spluttered in confusion.

“He is alive,” said Dumbledore heavily. “Mrs. Crouch, who was ill and near death, persuaded Crouch Sr. to save her son for her sake. When they visited Azkaban, she and her son drank Polyjuice Potion, so that he left disguised as her, and she died under his name. He was kept hidden at home by his father, controlled by the Imperius Curse; his house-elf, Winky, nursed his son back to health. Despite his father’s control, he remained a faithful Death Eater, nearly as fanatical as the Lestranges. By some mishap, Bertha Jorkins overheard Winky talking to the son, and deduced he was there. Mr. Crouch put a powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget.”

“Bagman said she was forgetful,” said Sirius, half under his breath; at least one thing made sense, now.

“Quite. She also knew about the Triwizard Tournament, and that I had asked Alastor to come out of retirement to teach. It was when she was in Albania that Peter Pettigrew -“

“Peter?” growled Sirius. Dumbledore nodded. “On his way to rejoin his master, he encountered Bertha Jorkins, and brought her to Voldemort. Voldemort tortured her until he broke the Memory Charm, and learned of Crouch Jr.’s survival, and the Tournament, and Moody. So he - restored to a rudimentary body by Pettigrew - hatched a plan to use Crouch to trap Harry through the Tournament. They overpowered Alastor Moody, forced him into his own trunk, and Crouch impersonated him to help Harry through the tournament, to ensure he touched the Triwizard Cup first.”

Sirius could hardly believe what he was hearing. “And I - I told Harry to listen to Moody -“

He felt almost as if he were choking on his own guilt; he had played straight into Crouch’s hands, and Harry had suffered for it.

“That is not your fault, Sirius,” said Dumbledore gravely, his piercing blue eyes meeting Sirius’. “I should not have been taken in by Crouch; it is my fault, more than anyone else’s.”

“And I let Peter go, last year -”

“We have no way of knowing the consequences of our actions, Sirius. You were not wrong to spare his life on Harry’s behalf. You and I both know Voldemort would have found another servant.” Sirius bit back a retort; this was not the moment for argument.

“And - what happened - after Harry touched the Cup?” Sirius asked, not entirely wanting to know the answer.

“It seems,” and Dumbledore sighed again, heavily, wearily, “that he used Harry to restore himself to a body. Lord Voldemort has returned.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then Sirius unfroze.

“What?” 

The words seemed to be taking a long time to filter through his brain. Voldemort, back again…he’d known it would probably happen, not that he was ready for having anticipated it. He reached for Harry’s shoulder, and gripped it, reassuring himself that he was there, that he was alive and safe. 

“How?”

The croaky, hoarse voice that asked the question seemed not to belong to him. Dumbledore looked, not at him, but at Harry, who was resolutely looking down at his knees, stroking Dumbledore’s pet phoenix.

“Harry,” said Dumbledore, in a softer tone. “I need you to tell us what happened.”

Sirius felt Harry’s shoulder tense at this; Harry did not look up. Sirius suddenly felt a wave of anger at Dumbledore.

“That can wait ’till morning, can’t it, Dumbledore?” he said, in a harsher tone. “Let him have a sleep. Let him rest.”

Dumbledore glanced at Sirius briefly, before turning his gaze back to Harry, who reluctantly met it at last.

“If I thought I could help you,” he said, more gently still, “by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.”

The phoenix on Harry’s knee chose this moment to let out one soft, quavering note, and for some reason, Sirius felt warmer; he looked back at Harry, who had lifted his chin and set his jaw, as if he, too, had been buoyed by the phoenix song. Harry nodded, once, and Sirius gripped his shoulder more tightly, bracing himself again.

“The Cup was a Portkey,” he began, his voice low with exhaustion. “Cedric and I got to it at the same time, only an Acromantula came at him, and I had to help him fight it off. It got me in the leg, though -“ he gestured vaguely at the torn fabric on his right leg “- and then it picked me up and dropped me and made it worse. I told him to take the Cup, because I didn’t want to race him for it, and he told me to take it, and in the end I told him we should do it together, it would still be a Hogwarts victory.”

Just like Lily, said the small, truthful voice in the back of Sirius’ head, and his throat tightened somewhat.

“I - I told him to take the Cup with me,” repeated Harry, a note of guilt entering his voice.

“It is not your fault, Harry,” said Dumbledore kindly; Harry glanced over at Sirius.

“Go on,” he said. “You’ll feel better if you do.” Why he found himself agreeing with Dumbledore all of a sudden, he did not know, but he knew that if Harry stopped now, he was unsure if he would start again; he seemed to be forcing himself to continue.

Harry set his jaw again, nodded, and continued.

“The Cup took us to a graveyard somewhere. At first we thought it was part of the task, but then I saw a grave marked ‘Tom Riddle’, and I tried to tell Cedric we had to get out of there, but then my scar started burning, so badly I couldn’t see, and I dropped my wand. Wormtail turned up, and Voldemort said “Kill the spare”, and Wormtail d-did it - the Avada Kedavra - and killed him.” Harry’s voice was shaking as he reached the end of his sentence, and he gulped. The words seemed to echo in Sirius’ head, “kill the spare”, and he tried not to think about how that could so easily have been Harry. The spare…what a heartless way to regard that other boy.

Harry swallowed again. “Then Wormtail dragged me over to the tombstone and tied me up, I couldn’t stop him, my scar was still hurting so badly I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t realize who it was until he hit me to shut me up, and I saw his missing finger.”

Sirius clenched his teeth, trying not to interrupt Harry, but only barely containing his anger at Peter. He could hardly believe Peter had the nerve to lay a hand on Harry, when he owed him his life, when he’d already caused him so much pain.

“So, Voldemort spoke, Harry?” Dumbledore’s words cut across Sirius’ rising fury. “He had a body, then?”

Harry nodded. “It looked like a baby, but with Voldemort’s face, like he wasn’t fully human. He looked weak.” Harry swallowed.

“Then Wormtail dragged over a massive cauldron, and put Voldemort in that halfway sort-of body in it, then he said something about bone of the father, and put some dust from the grave under me in the cauldron.”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, in a tone of understanding. Sirius and Harry looked up at him, surprised.

“He needed two more key ingredients, did he not, Harry? Or I am much mistaken about which piece of Dark Magic Lord Voldemort used for his resurrection.”

“You’re not,” answered Harry soberly. “Wormtail mentioned flesh of the servant - and then - he - he - cut off his hand into the cauldron,” he finished in a rush, looking sick; Sirius, too, felt his stomach twist at the image. Dumbledore nodded, looking expectantly at Harry, as if he knew what was coming. Harry swallowed, and Sirius grew more apprehensive still as Harry’s face seemed to tighten.

“When he’d recovered a bit, he said he needed blood of the enemy, so he came over to me, and cut my arm open so he could collect some of my blood in a vial,” continued Harry, and this time Sirius could not control his anger.

“He did  _ what _ ?” he spat, finding himself upright, though he could not remember standing up. “Let me see -“ he pulled Harry’s left arm towards him, the sleeve ripped and stained with blood. The cut looked deep, but the knife must have been sharp; Harry would get away without a scar. He jumped when he realized Dumbledore was suddenly standing next to him, peering intently down at the wound himself. Harry flinched as Sirius started, and Sirius quickly let go.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to - does it still hurt much?”

Harry shrugged. “’S’not that bad.” 

Sirius blew out his cheeks, and sat back down next to Harry, trying to look away from the ugly gash as Dumbledore returned to his side of the desk.

“So, he added your blood to the cauldron?” prompted Dumbledore. Harry nodded.

“After that, loads of steam came out of the cauldron, and Voldemort stood up out of it, and Wormtail put some robes on him. It was like one of my nightmares.” He shuddered, and Sirius instinctively put his hand back on Harry’s shoulder, wanting to provide some reassurance, but totally at a loss.

“I presume he had good reason for wanting your blood, Harry?” probed Dumbledore gently; Harry nodded again. “He said the protection my - my mother gave me, he would have it too,” he said, quietly. “He could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face.”

Sirius watched his knuckles whiten on Harry’s shoulder as if they belonged to somebody else. He looked up at Dumbledore, and for a moment he thought his eyes registered an expression of triumph. But before he could register it, it was gone; Dumbledore looked old and weary once more. 

“Very well,” he said gravely. “Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please.”

Harry swallowed and lifted his chin again, and Sirius slackened his grip on his shoulder, and gestured at Harry to continue.

“Then he summoned the Death Eaters,” he went on. “He touched a Dark Mark tattooed on Wormtail’s arm, and it burned black, and seemed to hurt him -“  _ Good _ , said the voice in Sirius’ head - “and then he waited. Death Eaters in masks turned up, and formed a circle, but they left spaces for the missing ones. He said a few were dead, a few were in Azkaban, one he said had left him forever -“ Dumbledore’s eye twitched at this, and Sirius formed a suspicion as to whom Voldemort had meant “- one who was too cowardly to come back, probably Karkaroff, and one who was his most faithful servant, so that was obviously Crouch.”

“Anyone else?” asked Dumbledore keenly.

“Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Lucius Malfoy, Macnair,” recited Harry, “and a few more that he didn’t say the name of. Probably a dozen or so.” Dumbledore nodded in response; Sirius could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, storing that information, preparing to use it. He nodded at Harry to continue.

“Malfoy asked how he managed to come back,” Harry went on. “Voldemort told him how Mum died to save me, and the curse should have killed him when it rebounded, and it didn’t, because he said “one or more of his experiments must have worked”, that he had gone “further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality”. I’m not sure what he meant there, but no one asked - in any case, he was alive, but all he could do was possess people or animals.” Sirius shuddered, but remained silent, not wanting to interrupt. “Then he got angry with the Death Eaters for not having looked for him, for having believed he was finished, and tortured Avery when he asked for forgiveness. He said he wanted thirteen years’ repayment for it, and then he went back to the story.” Sirius remembered Avery from school, and somewhere he felt a vindictive pleasure in his suffering after what he’d done to Mary McDonald.

“So he talked about Quirrell, and the diary, and then he talked about Wormtail returning to him because the other rats told him where he was, in Albania, and how he overpowered Bertha Jorkins, and they got information out of her. Apparently he used his snake - a massive one, she was there, called Nagini - to make a potion with unicorn blood so he could have that - that baby sort-of body he had when Wormtail put him in the cauldron.” Dumbledore gave one nod, looking grave, and Harry took a breath and went on. 

“Then he explained that he wanted to use my blood to rebuild his body, so he could use my mother’s protection, so he used his “most faithful servant” that Bertha Jorkins told him about.” Sirius focused on Harry’s face, listening intently, hating Voldemort for having twisted Lily’s sacrifice.

“And Wormtail said he was a faithful servant, and Voldemort said he was a weak coward, but he’d helped, and he - Voldemort - rewarded his helpers, so he conjured a silver hand for him, to replace the one he cut off. I think he was trying to encourage the Death Eaters after he tortured Avery in front of them,” Harry finished sagely. Then he paused, and Sirius felt his own shoulders tensing once more; he knew, suddenly, he did not want to know what had happened next. Harry swallowed hard, and seemed to be steeling himself; Sirius reflexively tightened his grip on his shoulder, but fought to maintain control this time.

“Then he hit me with the Cruciatus Curse, while I was still tied to the statue,” he said in a strained tone. 

It took every ounce of self-restraint Sirius had to remain sitting silently next to Harry. He thanked McGonagall inwardly for her warning, even as he took in a sharp breath and looked keenly into Harry’s face. Harry did not make eye contact with him, nor with Dumbledore; he was again staring firmly at his knees. Sirius took another deep breath, feeling physically sick at the notion of Harry being tortured, but did not say anything. Harry seemed to be readying himself to say more, and Sirius knew that if Harry were interrupted now, that he, Sirius, would not be able to bring himself to listen further.

“Then he said he was going to prove he was more powerful than me, by killing me in front of them,” he said, a little hoarsely. “He had Wormtail untie me, and give me back my wand.” Sirius drew in a breath, and Harry looked at him; Sirius could not find words, so he nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

“Then he asked me if I’d been taught to duel, and he bowed,” Harry went on. “I think he was trying to mess with me, going through the formalities, and told me to bow to death. But I wouldn’t,” he said, a little more defiantly now. “Voldemort forced me to, eventually.” He swallowed. “Then he hit me with the Cruciatus Curse again,” he added quietly. 

This time, Sirius was braced for the shock, and managed to continue sitting silently next to Harry, though bile was rising in his throat; he inwardly thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t accepted McGonagall’s offer earlier. He was certain that if he had had anything in his stomach, it would have come back up. He fought down the nausea, controlling his breathing, and looking at Harry’s tight face.

At last, Harry broke the silence. 

“When he was done, the Death Eaters were laughing at me,” he said, “and Voldemort asked if I wanted him to do that again.” Sirius was startled to hear a sardonic note creeping into Harry’s tone. Harry looked up, and continued, “When I wouldn’t answer, he tried to Imperius me to say no,” and the corners of his mouth twitched, “and I wouldn’t. I think he was trying to mess with me again in front of the Death Eaters, and it didn’t work.” Harry almost smirked, and despite the continued pounding of fear in his head, Sirius felt a warm shot of pride somewhere. Harry had dueled Voldemort, at the age of fourteen, and thrown off his Imperius Curse, and lived to tell the tale. He looked up at Dumbledore, who still looked very serious, but with a glimmer of a twinkle returning to his eye. 

“Like godfather, like godson,” he murmured, and Harry glanced, surprised, at Sirius. Sirius recalled how his own stubbornness had been an asset to the Order, long ago, but only managed to muster a hoarse, “Well done, kid. I’m proud of you.” Harry managed a small smile, but quickly resumed staring at his knees. 

“Go on, please, Harry,” said Dumbledore, more somberly now. 

“He got annoyed that his Imperius didn’t work on me,” said Harry, “so he tried to torture me again, but I dodged it. I managed to hide behind one of the tombstones in the graveyard. And after a minute Voldemort got tired of the duel, and said he was going to kill me now, and started coming towards the gravestone I was hiding behind. So I decided,” Harry swallowed, and lifted his chin, “I decided I didn’t want to die hiding behind the gravestone, I wanted to die upright, fighting him, like my dad.”

A lump rose in Sirius’ throat, and he felt his eyes prickle dangerously again, but he fought it with every ounce of his self-control, forcing himself to remain steady, gripping Harry’s shoulder more tightly. He tried very hard not to remember the image of James, sprawled, empty-eyed, in the doorway of his home, but unbidden, a picture of Harry, his eyes open and blank, replaced that of James, and Sirius clenched his jaw, clinging to his pretense of calm. 

Harry glanced at him briefly, and Sirius tried to rearrange his face into what he hoped was an encouraging expression; he did not trust himself to speak.

“What happened, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, quietly.

“I got up,” said Harry, “and right as he cast Avada Kedavra -“ Sirius shuddered “- I cast Expelliarmus, it was the first thing I could think of, and our spells hit each other, and they formed this - this beam of light, connecting our wands.”

Sirius momentarily forgot his struggle with himself in his confusion. He looked curiously at Harry; spells usually ricocheted off one another. 

“Yeah, I thought it was really odd too,” said Harry, seeing Sirius’ expression. “This beam of light wasn’t red or green like either of our spells, it was gold, and suddenly, I could hear phoenix song, which seemed to be coming from the beam of light. And then it got really strange, because the beam of light formed this sort of golden cage around us, and lifted us up, and carried us away from the other Death Eaters, to a clear patch of ground.”

Sirius felt his eyebrows rise; he looked at Dumbledore, but he did not seem keen to provide explanations just yet.

“Then what happened?” Dumbledore asked, looking keenly into Harry’s face. 

“There was a bead of light that seemed to be sliding down the beam,” said Harry, “and for some reason, I knew I had to force the bead away from my wand, so I concentrated really hard, just trying not to break the connection.”

Sirius looked at Dumbledore again in bafflement, searching his face for answers. This time, thankfully, Dumbledore seemed prepared to provide them. 

“ _ Priori Incantatem _ ,” he said softly, looking up. 

“The reverse spell effect?” Sirius asked sharply, looking at Dumbledore questioningly, still very much at sea.

Dumbledore nodded. “Harry’s wand and Voldemort’s wand have twin cores. Both contain tail feathers from the same phoenix.  _ This  _ phoenix, in fact,” he added, nodding at the magnificent bird still sitting on Harry’s knee. 

Whatever Sirius had expected, it was not this. His mouth fell open in surprise as he looked from Harry, to the phoenix, back to Dumbledore.

“My wand’s feather came from Fawkes?” Harry asked, also sounding surprised, though not nearly as surprised as Sirius had expected; of course, Ollivander had probably told him about the twin cores.

“Indeed,” nodded Dumbledore. “Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had purchased the second wand, four years ago.”

Harry was still stroking Fawkes the phoenix. Sirius, however, was still curious. 

“What happens when a wand meets its brother?”

“They will not work properly against each other,” answered Dumbledore. “If, however, the owners force the wands to do battle...a very rare effect will take place. One wand will force the other to regurgitate the last spells the wand performed, in reverse order.” Dumbledore paused for a moment.

“Which means,” he continued, turning back to Harry, “some form of Cedric must have reappeared.”

“Diggory came back to life?” Sirius asked - from Dumbledore, especially, he had not expected this. 

“No spell can reawaken the dead,” said Dumbledore heavily. “ All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand...am I correct, Harry? ”

Harry nodded. “First I heard some screaming, then this smoky hand appeared, from when he made the hand for Wormtail, then more screaming...then the ghost, or whatever it was, of Cedric -“

“An echo,” corrected Dumbledore softly, “that retained Cedric’s appearance and character.”

Harry nodded, and swallowed. Then he said, quietly, “He asked me to bring his body back to his parents.”

Dumbledore gave a slow nod, looking grave. “I am guessing other such forms appeared...less recent victims of Voldemort’s wand...”

“An old man,” said Harry, and Sirius suddenly knew what was coming, and wanted desperately not to hear it. “Bertha Jorkins,” continued Harry. “And…” his voice cracked. 

“Your parents,” finished Dumbledore.

“Yes,” Sirius heard Harry answer, very softly. Sirius had braced himself this time, and remained calmly seated next to Harry, until he noticed he was again gripping Harry’s shoulder so tightly it must have hurt him. He forced himself to relax his grip, though his fingers initially did not seem to respond too well. 

“The last murders the wand performed,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows . . . what did they do?” Dumbledore asked, gently.

“They talked to me,” said Harry, in a constricted voice. “Voldemort seemed scared of them. The old man was a Muggle, he didn’t believe Voldemort was a real wizard. He and Bertha Jorkins told me to keep fighting. And Cedric asked me to bring his body back. Then - my mum and dad - they - they told me what to do,” he said, his voice cracking. “They said the Cup would take me back. They told me - once I let go - they could shield me for a few moments -“ Harry’s voice broke. He fell silent.

Sirius had been able to maintain control, but when Harry told him what James and Lily had done, it dredged up a memory of James yelling at Sirius that he could give him a few seconds to get away with an injured Benjy Fenwick, and suddenly Sirius had had enough. He felt his face screwing up, and he fought it, but then the thought hit him that this was the only conversation Harry had ever had with James and Lily. The only time he had ever spoken with them, and it was under the worst possible circumstances. For all his insistences to himself that he had no right to break down, he found himself letting go of Harry’s shoulder and burying his face in his hands. 

He let a single choked sob escape from the knot in his throat, and felt a couple of tears leak onto his fingers, but took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his mind away from James and Lily’s faces, trying to focus on Harry. Harry, who had suffered worse than any of Sirius’ nightmares over the past year, who even now appeared calm, steady, stroking Dumbledore’s bird. 

He looked up briefly at Dumbledore, who was looking seriously at him while Harry steadfastly gazed at the phoenix. Dumbledore’s gaze was somber. Sirius realized he, Dumbledore, had accorded him the respect shown to a legal guardian; Dumbledore would never have questioned an underage student on a crime without a parent or guardian present. He swallowed, hard, still trying to slow his breathing, and scrubbed a fist across his eyes. He was the responsible guardian here, and though he had not kept Harry safe as he’d promised James he would, he could at least pull himself together and behave like a parent, like someone Harry could turn to. He set his jaw, forcing down the lump in his throat, and put his hand instinctively back on Harry’s shoulder, looking over at the phoenix as he did.

The phoenix had stopped singing; now, thick, pearly tears were dripping from its eyes into the ragged hole torn in the knee of Harry’s clothes. A few tiny wisps of smoke emerged from what Sirius assumed was the Acromantula wound. Harry flexed his knee, and did not wince. The phoenix tears must have healed his leg, and Sirius felt a small sigh of relief escape him. 

Dumbledore looked up, and Sirius met his gaze again before he looked back at Harry. 

“I will say it again,” said Dumbledore, still gravely. “You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to that of those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard’s burden and found yourself equal to it, and now, you have given us all we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace...Sirius, would you like to stay with him?”

Sirius nodded, not sure if he could trust his voice, and stood up. Harry stood as well, and Sirius was relieved to see his leg was quite steady now. Harry looked at him, and though Sirius could still smell the fear on him, he looked calmer, less frozen than when he had arrived in Dumbledore’s office. 

Sirius met his eyes, and though Harry’s expression was calmer, Sirius could see a haunted look behind them, not unlike his own when he’d first looked in a mirror after Azkaban. His breath caught in his throat as the full weight of everything Harry had been through seemed to fall upon him. He had been attacked, tortured, injured, forced to watch that other kid die right in front of him, and he was only  _ fourteen _ ; now drawn up to his full height, Sirius was suddenly very aware of how small Harry looked, how young he was. Without thinking about it, he seized Harry’s shoulder again and pulled him roughly into a hug, Harry’s head just barely reaching his shoulder. He felt Harry’s heartbeat against him, reassuringly alive and steady, if still faster than normal. 

Harry stiffened, and for a moment Sirius was worried - he rarely initiated physical contact with anyone, and Harry didn’t seem to do it much either, and he wondered briefly if he should have done so without warning - and then Harry relaxed slightly and returned the hug. In a reflex from long ago, he ran his fingers through the hair at the back of Harry’s head, and marveled inwardly that that reflex had somehow survived Azkaban. His other arm was pressed into Harry’s t-shirt. It was still damp with cold sweat. Sirius started to feel sick again when he thought about why. 

“Harry - I’m so sorry - I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this from happening,” he muttered in Harry’s ear, stumbling over the words. “Your parents - they loved you, and I love you, and they never would have wanted this, I wish I’d been able to stop it…” he realized he was rambling, hardly making sense, and he stopped. Harry had tightened his arms around Sirius’ frame with surprising strength, and Sirius returned the pressure, focusing on Harry’s heartbeat against his chest to remind himself that he was safe now. 

_ For _ now, said the truthful voice in his head, but that would be enough. His mind was full. He met Dumbledore’s eyes over Harry’s head, and Dumbledore gave him a small nod, whether in beckoning or approval Sirius did not know. He released Harry, cleared his throat, and stepped back from him, smoothly transforming as Dumbledore turned the door handle. 

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to Real Weird Sisters' (great podcast! Do look it up!) take on the GoF chapter The Parting of the Ways, it really hit me how hard this must have been on Sirius to hear about Harry being tortured and nearly killed. Especially when he had been trying so hard to keep him safe. And it occurred to me that Dumbledore bringing Sirius here for this - even if he doesn't treat him so well in OotP - was a mark of respect for his guardianship of Harry. 
> 
> Also, I have always had a headcanon that Sirius was the first person Harry remembers telling him he loved him. Obviously not under the best of circumstances, but Sirius isn't the most emotionally open or stable person.


End file.
